My Little Terran
by SierraLaufeyson
Summary: Ronan allows his Terran warrior to celebrate a small victory over him, however she chooses.


"You fight well, but still your Terran blood makes you innately weak," Ronan speaks as if he as absolute control over what happens in the galaxy, though he does not, he can only have true control over his war ship and in the sick way of the Kree he does. She growls beneath her breathe and charges forward, extending her hands to allow the green energy to gather, crackling in the stoic air of the Dark Aster. The intensity of her attack takes the Accuser by surprise, but he steps back and the girl slams into the metallic wall. Her shoulder hangs limp as she rams the joint back into place, blood trickles from the side of her temple. For so long it has been training, hours upon hours of training, whether it is with Korath, Nebula, or Ronan himself, she was constantly training, and she hated her body for being weaker than her spirit and ambition.

"And how do you expect me to prove myself in battle if you keep me locked up like an artifact? I have been trained by you. Allow me to show you my loyalty, Ronan," a grim smile takes over her face as she strolls purposefully towards the leader. "I will slay a thousand Xandarians," she stands before him, not daring to look away but keeps her eyes trained on his own violet irises, rimmed with the pitch war paint, his black lips curl into an unsightly smile revealing the stained teeth of the Kree, a truly incongruous type of beauty.

"Your spirit is admirable," he pauses and lashes out, gripping her forearm to the point she feared the bone would splinter beneath his hand. "But it will be your demise." Though she wishes to cringe, she refrains, keeping her face unchanged. Ronan continues to look at the small human girl, almost in awe of the strength she could muster from her pathetic body, but it was something else within her that called to him.

What he did not notice was the ball of energy that had formed in her hand, or when she pressed her hand against his chest. The Kree fanatic was sent to the wall his back was to, a deadly smirk forming on his lips as he moved with deadly precision towards the girl while she stood rooted in place, expecting the worst. Her body braced for impact but he stops naught even an inch away from her before tossing her over his shoulder. She shrieks in shock and carelessly bangs on his back, knowing that the action would do nothing to him.

"Ronan," she warns, though why she would use that tone of voice with him is unknown, his armor presses into her stomach but he does not care, nor does she fully realize that it could be cutting into her skin. The leader strides out of the vast training room and through corridors, his minions and servants eye the two oddly, from the first day she had been on the Dark Aster everyone could sense something between the two, Gamora and Nebula loathed it completely as she easily gained his favor.

The path to her room on board his ship had become second nature and though she did not see ahead the features that passed by were familiar to her, she squirms and he grips her tightly and instantly she stills. Their pace breaks to a halt as he pushes the heavy door open and then it takes mere seconds before he has dropped her to the bed. "You must pay for your insolence Clara," his voice is rough and low, as always but this time there is something laced within the voice that nearly always caused chills to course over her skin.

Usually he would deposit her atop crumpled sheets and leave swiftly, locking the door behind him, it was a way to ensure her safety, though why he cared was beyond him, but this time he didn't leave he, eyes the Terran girl, scrutinizing every feature visible to his eyes. She huffs and crosses her arms across her chest, looking back at the warlord who once held her captive, giving up at whatever she had planned; Clara falls back to her bed. "How will I pay for my insolence, my dear Ronan?" Sarcasm drips off her words, but not because of hatred, or anything of the likes, it was simply in her nature, and he had grown to enjoy the grotesque and unforgiving nature of his little Terran.

The Accuser steps toward her, she remains as is, lying back on the soft sheets. "How do you wish to be punished? I could flog you if you so desire, perhaps bruise your delicate skin with my weapon, though I do not wish for you to choose such actions," as he finishes he leans forward, trapping the majority of her body beneath his torso. She grins wickedly at their position and quickly pivots, throwing off his weight so that she can sit astride him, and though he could easily revert their position; he allows Clara the pleasure of straddling him, a moment of victory.

"Why punish me when it's quite obvious that I won?" She leans down, her nails digging into his armor but it would damage her delicate hands before she would ever scratch the article of clothing. His thin black lips curve into a wry smile; it was grotesque, morose even how beautiful she found him to be. He was nothing but bone and muscle; he killed without second thought and bathed in the blood of those he deemed lesser than himself, or his cause, and yet she had found a way to appeal to him, a weak Terran who just happened to be a rejected lab experiment.

"And what leads you to believe that you are victorious, my little Terran?" The Accuser remained on his back, Clara straddles him but she was nothing but a feather in comparison to him, she knew this and still taunted and teased the vicious warlord, he still did not know why he kept her around in times like this. "I had the last hit, tossing me over your shoulder doesn't mean you won," her voice was on the verge of haughtiness, and it was that tone with made Ronan dig his hands into her hips, she did nothing but flinch already knowing that bruises would soon form.

"And how shall you celebrate this great achievement?" She sat back, but did not dare to move from her curtain position out of fear that she would never manage to get the Kree leader on his back ever again. Clara pursed her lips, thinking about the things she could demand from him, a new dress, a special wine, a day away from the torment of training, though the luxuries were enticing she looked at the alien warlord beneath her and smiled. Her moment of hesitance is frustrating as Ronan is impatient, something she had learned when she first arrived on the Dark Aster, but she finds herself trapped beneath his weight, warm hands wrapped around her wrists.

Her eyes glaze over instantly, her breathing stutters, and chest heaves from fear or excitement she can't place exactly as he looks down at her, and even though he wants to infuriated he isn't, it's curiosity that shines in his irises. His hand runs up the length of her arm, his head tilting to the side when the skin breaks out in horripilation. "Terrans, so predisposed to conceding into their desires, your body betrays you little one." His satisfaction is palpable, and though he discriminates against the desires of those of Terra he doesn't move, nor does he resist when Clara slides her hand across his armored chest, brushing the skin of his exposed neck.

Ronan could not deny the aesthetic beauty of the little Terran he held within his ship, but her heart was as black as the oncoming night, filled with malice, but it was soft skin, pale green eyes and sandy colored hair that enraptured him in the moment. He could see the bruises forming on her wrists, those that were fading on her arms. He claimed she bruised easily because she was Terran, and his grip was not to blame. She thought otherwise. "Ronan," her voice was low, drenched with want; he thought it pathetic for his little warrior to feel such desire, but pulled the straps and buckles of her training garb away.

Clara whimpers when his fingers brush against her clavicles, up the column of her neck and across dry and rough lips, she sighs as his fingers exhibit a gentleness that she could never have thought existed in the fierce leader, people cowered before him, and yet he admired her. Ronan's hand grips her jaw, forcing her gaze to remain on him, his mouth hovering above hers, as if in a teasing manner, his breath fanning over her lips and cheek, everything about him was frightening, imposing, but right now she could not see past her own desire.

"My little Terran, I can be rather demanding and would hate to break your fragile body, I do not think you understand the gravity of this situation and of that which you ask of me," his voice is serious, the threatening nature resurfacing, and it shows in his eyes, the way they narrow and how his grip at her jaw and neck tightens just enough to cause discomfort. Her eyes meet his in a challenge, and her hand grips the forearm of the hand still on her jaw, but she does not struggle against him, the other touches the skin of face, faintly tracing over one of the profound veins beneath the surface that are a different shade than the rest of his skin. "I know what I have gotten myself into, Ronan and I am asking for you, all of you and whatever you will give." She is quick to clarify, her own voice hold authority, a trait she had picked up from her stay with the warlord without a doubt, and as soon as his hand moves from her jaw it is entangled with her hair, tugging back her fragile neck in which ever way he pleases, his free hand wraps around her throat but does not squeeze as he slips it to the back of her neck.

He is quick to close the small space between their lips, pressing his against hers, claiming her with just his mouth, and she yielded to him completely, reciprocating fully, her body molding seamlessly against him. Clara slips her hands beneath his headdress, both hands resting on the back of his neck, on bare skin, unknowingly pulling him closer. His hands squeeze her breasts, which at some point in their kiss had become bare; she can feel the slight smile on his lips as he tests the weight of each one, fitting perfectly in his palm, and the harshness of the kiss stole her breath away completely.

Deftly she fumbles with the intricacies of his armor, finding small notches where she believed there to be buckles but her search was in vain. She cursed herself for turning away the time she was summoned as the monks dressed him, the only thing she caught sight of was his heavily muscled back before her cheeks turned the color of her blood, now she wished she had observed how they had dressed him. Clara makes a noise of frustration, laden with lust and Ronan laughs, sensing the cause of her distress, but before he stands to remove his armor she pulls off the heavy headdress and sets it aside reverently, following him until they both stand.

The Accuser hastily removed the remainders of her clothing, ripping the uniform straight from her body in a way that makes her gasp as shreds flutter to the floor, at first she wants to protest but Ronan silences her. He would replace the damaged one with something more befitting for his partner, something more menacing to suit her. His eyes appreciatively roam the sight of her body, soft, supple, feminine, and breakable, oh how very breakable she was.

As the first piece of his armor falls away Clara quickly steps forward, now able to remove the remaining pieces, carelessly she lets the pieces fall to the floor. For a moment the sight of his bare torso renders her speechless, the planes of his chest are defined, tentatively she reaches out, tracing his over his collarbones, her caresses feather light in nature. Ronan tips her head back and leans down, claiming her lips again, he is not gentle, nor is humble about the effect he has on her, he is demanding and dominant. Frantically Clara works the zippers and ties of his pants, pushing them off completely, her hands trace the muscles of abdomen, and run over the cuts in his hips.

His grip that forms on her waist is one of iron, she winces but it is the least of her concerns as he picks her up, wrapping her agile legs about his waist before falling forward to the bed, his weight braced on his hands, splayed just above her shoulders. The Accuser studies his Terran, her pupils superimposed with lust, the sight was barbaric, carnal, and he enjoyed every second of it. Clara smoothed her fingertips across his brow, tracing around the war paint until her fingers pressed against his skull. She sighs at how smooth it is, just like the rest of his body.

For a long moment they remain as is, intently looking over the other's face, the expressions, but she pushes herself up, breasts pressed tightly to his chest and kisses him without abandon, his arm wraps around the curve of her back, further arching her body into his. "Ronan," she breathes, hands slipping over his broad shoulders, down his tapering back, the muscles there contract under her palms. She has words forming on the tip of her tongue but they are lost as his hand slips between her legs, the smile on his lips can be felt pressed into her neck as he runs his fingers down her slick folds.

"I can smell your arousal from her, my little Terran." A strangled noise caught somewhere between a moan and a yelp escapes her lips when he slides two fingers within her core, his thumb pressed against her clit, rubbing agonizingly slow circles. Clara rolls her hips; the action causes Ronan to look at her to which she quickly takes his face within her hands, placing a timorous to his lips as his fingers begin to work her faster. When her lips part in a silent throe of pleasure the Accuser swipes his tongue daringly along her lower lip, pleased when her head falls back.

Ronan lies back, and pulls her weight to land on his chest, but he is quick to situate the Terran how he desires her, she doesn't resist. Instead she eases his work and takes the hint, moving up his body until one of her knees rests on either side of his head. He slips his hands up along the outside of her thighs and to her hips, pulling her down to him. Lowered onto his mouth her hips buck as his tongue pushes into her; savoring the sweet taste of his Terran pet. Her head falls back at first, and he clutches her rocking hips, controlling the motions of her movement as he was unwilling to give her any kind of control.

He sucks at her clit, pursing his lips around the sensitive nerves and swirls his tongue around the flesh before dropping a single hand to push his fingers deep within her again. It was then she dared to look down, the sight of his eyes glowing with desire, for a moment she thought the war paint on his face would transfer to her skin but it remains perfected, it was this moment she desperately wished he had hair to tangle her hands in but with nothing to truly grab hold of Clara grasps her own breasts squeezing them to her chest.

The intensity was nearly enough to overwhelm the girl, her hips trying to lift away from his plundering tongue but he withdraws his fingers and locks his forearms around her thighs, spreading her wide with his fingers. Her mouth falls open as his tongue rolls and laps, curling deep inside her and no matter how she moves he follows, keeping his mouth against her core as he devoured her, his eyes intently watching her from between her legs. When she comes her body shakes as she tries to escape his grasp, a move that his form bruise on her skin no doubt, but he refuse and seeks to draw out every ounce of pleasure and cry she has within. He gives her clit a slow final suck, and licks his lips, but returns his hands to replace his tongue once again.

Somewhere within her quivering state of mind she stills his hand. "Enough teasing, I said I wanted _you_, not your fingers or tongue, however talented they may be." Her hands trail down his torso as she leans back, well defined abs flex as her fingers dance over the skin until she stops at the last remaining piece of clothing between the two, the wrap that conceals his fully engorged cock. She takes pride at his reaction when she grasps the length still concealed by a thin piece of black fabric, it makes her feel as if she has the power that could bring the one of the most powerful beings in the galaxy to his knees.

Clara pulls the fabric away and in a flash he has her on her back once more; the weight of his arousal rests against her inner thigh, she can easily feel that he is well endowed, but she never had any doubts concerning his size. "I cannot promise to be gentle with you, my dear Clara." She smiles coyly at the Kree leader, pushing her hips against his. "I haven't asked you to be gentle, now fuck me Ronan." Her words are the flame that ignites the fuse, and before she can speak again he thrusts himself with her, fully sheathing himself in her hot core.

Her nails dig into his biceps, almost to the point where she believes there is blood coming from the man that was once her captor. With each thrust her breasts press tighter to the musculature of his chest, her hands still mark his skin and as a response he sinks his teeth into her neck, just above the thrumming pulse. Her body involuntarily reacts, arching into him, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer with each powerful thrust. She was sure there would be bruises on the insides of her thighs, and where ever his fingertips had dug into her skin, but she couldn't care, she was only focused on the way his cock felt sliding in and out of her, the way their skin sounded slapping against each other's in the vast room creating a cacophony of noises that were far from civil.

Clara made no notion to contain the obscene noises and words that flew from her mouth, strings of profanities fell from her swollen lips in a manner that the Accuser found amusing, but it did not stop him from rutting into her repeatedly, _fucking_ her as she had called it, he never falters or loses the pace set. He only paused to lift her from the sheets, her legs remained wrapped tightly his waist, and now her hands grasp onto his shoulders, while his dig into her backside.

Ronan buries his head into her breasts, nipping and suckling at her tender flesh, determined to leave marks on the skin, lifting her body only to pull her back down as he thrust into her. He knows he is being rough with her fragile body, but he cannot, nor does he want to control the need for her now, she gasps as her muscles begin to tighten, her heels pressing firmly into his back, and had it been a mortal man in his place his shoulders and chest would have been covered in bloody scratches, but not the Kree leader, her clawing did nothing but amuse him.

Her body bows beautifully as she clenches around his cock, nothing short of a scream is ripped from her throat, with ragged breathing she partially falls limp but only supporting her weight with one arms Ronan, wraps his free hand in her hair, tugging back until her eyes lock onto his, he's still moving, rolling his hips into hers, slower than before as the grip of her cunt around him creates resistance and only makes him surge forward, pushing himself deeper.

She fears he may crush her as his arms wrap around her tightly, within her his cock swells and she can feel the warm liquid filling her, his seed, and he falls forward, releasing her but not removing his weight from her tired body. She finds it comforting, running her fingertips from the back of his skull, down his neck, and he connects the forming bruises tracing over her skin in a manner that is all too gentle for the alien warlord. "Perhaps I should let you win more often if that is how you choose to celebrate."

Clara laughs, and though she does not see the smile that forms on his lips, it is there. "I have no objections if this is how you wish to celebrate your victories as well." Ronan gives her breast a playful squeeze before stilling once more, his head pillowed on her cleavage and her arms resting on his back. She was exhausted, sated, and most definitely pleasantly sore, but as she slipped into sleep Ronan winces at the feeling within his chest, and even if he wants to push the girl far away he cannot, he only pulls her closer to him.


End file.
